


Tonight

by Skitskat24



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Can be romantic or platonic, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Recreational Drug Use, Sherlock on Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitskat24/pseuds/Skitskat24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He promised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by http://x-sherlock-holmes-x.tumblr.com/ amazing drugged/emotionally unstable cosplay ask session. Simply wonderful. Very intense. Great cosplay.

No uppers. He’d promised. No more drugs. No need. No reason. Promised. John said fine. John. John said no uppers. But John’s not here.

John’s gone.

He’s not leaving he can’t be it’s not logical _think_ Sherlock. He won’t. Wouldn’t dare. Too much time out in. Too much at stake. Won’t go back to his dingy old flat. Or does he want to? No. Yes? _NO._ Sherlock you’re running in circles. No. Thinking. Thinking in circles. Don’t be daft.

_the killer was the gardener. the dirt. the weapon. point of entry. tried to blame it on the wife. wife has valid alibi. no other choice. process of elimination. yard is nothing more than a bunch of sniviling idiots if they can’t even a method as simple of process of emilination. will phone lestrade tomorrow._

The voices. Lovely. Everyone’s favorite part of the high. Unless I’m the only one who gets them. No. He’ll come back. He won’t leave me shut UP YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT. Musn’t shout at the voices. No, they’ll just come back louder. Can’t cause a scene. Mrs. Hudson will hear. Will call Mycroft. Will call John. John. John. Where is he anyway. Medical conference of course. Thought I deleted it. Must not’ve emptied the trash. Trash I’m not trash I’m not worthless. Where are you getting your facts from? Nowhere, you’re voices. Piss off. PISS OFF.

_benzoylmethylecgonine, otherwise known as cocaine. stimulant. appetite suppressant. anesthetic. recreational drug. increases alertness, feelings of well-being and euphoria, energy and motor activity, feelings of competence and sexuality. highly addictive. banned in almost all countries. including the flat. good thing i kept a stash hidden. morons could never find it. simplistic dolts._

Death. Easy. Simple. Complicated, though. Sometimes so very complicated. Interesting. Intriguing. Get the gun? Get the gun. Got the gun. Good weight. Easy grip. Small enough to hide but still so powerful. Like John. John doesn’t need gun. Strong enough without it. Doesn’t need so many jumpers either. But I like the jumpers. Yes. I do. No. Not all of them. Stop talking this is pointless. But John isn’t pointless. No he’s not, jumpers are. But they’re John’s jumpers. So? Therefore they are also important. No. It’s only logical Sherlock. Don’t talk to me as if you know me you know nothing of me. I am you. Stop. You can’t run from yourself. _STOP._

Do you really want it to stop?

Yes.

You have the means. Why don’t you?

I can’t.

You can. It’s a mere twitch of your finger. A passing thought. It’s so simple. 

I can’t and I won’t.

Why?

Too boring.

But it’ll answer a question even your brilliant mind cannot answer. What truly happens after you die. You’ve been promised enough trips to Hell that you can’t possibly not wonder if it really exists.

I have work to do. I’m not dead yet and I won’t be until someone forces out of me, be it God or some dunderheaded criminal.

You could. You could squeeze the life out of yourself. You have wire. Rope. Whatever you wanted to strangle yourself with until you breathed your last. How do you think John would look if he came home and found you like that? White nose, blue faced, cold as ice? Dead for real? Poor emotional John probably couldn’t handle it.

I don’t remember cocaine being so awful. I remember the trips to be much smoother.

Oh I’m as smooth as you’re going to get, because you know what you did? You broke your promise to everyone. Mummy. Mycroft. Lestrade. John.

Stop.

After all you’ve put that poor man through, you go and break your promise to him. First cigarettes, now drugs. All because of a weeklong trip and no cases. You’re weak Sherlock.

I am not.

So childish. You are. You can’t keep your promises. You let everyone down. Even with a brilliant mind like yours, no one will love you if you can’t even keep a promise to those you hold dear to you.

Shut up.

You know how to get me to stop. You know how to make it all stop. The pain. The boredom. The disappointment in yourself. The disdainful looks. All the trouble you cause people. You can end it right now. End your meaningless existance.

Stop it.

Do it.

SHUT UP.

Put it right above your ear.

I WON’T LISTEN.

But what’s that in your hand Sherlock?

I AM IN CONTROL. YOU ARE A DELUSION.

Can you feel the cold barrel on your skin?

NO.

Pull.

JOHN.

“SHERLOCK!”

The voice stops. The gun falls. Your tired eyes, unfocused, gaze at the figure coming towards you. You kick the gun away. Curl up. You don’t want to see his face. His disappointment. Voice was right. But you won’t give him the satisfaction. No, you’ll just wallow in your overflowing emotions. You can feel his arms under you, picking you up with what must be pure military strength and adrenaline. You can smell him. Familiar. Warm. Good cups of tea. You’re put down in a bed. Yours or his? Can’t tell. Data insufficient.

“Sherlock, please, look at me.”

You open your eyes. When did you close them? You focus on John. He doesn’t look disappointed. Looks worried. Tired. Scared. Worse than disappointed. Oh God.

“What were you doing Sherlock? Are you hurt?”

Drugs are bad John, terrible. Worst decision. Should’ve never broken promise. Feel stupid. Not hurt. Just stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Are you okay? Don’t worry. Fine. Okay. Something like that is what you tried to convey. You hope the message got across. He sighs. Looks relieved. Good. John deserves good. For once. Will make him tea tomorrow. Definitely. 

“Alright. We will talk about this tomorrow. I’m glad you’re safe. Please try to sleep. Call for me if you need anything. Okay?”

Hand through your hair. Nice. Gentle. Mummy used to do that too. John would make an excellent father. Will tell him tomorrow. Tomorrow? Yes. Okay. Can deal with this. Tomorrow. Tired. John. Goodnight John. Sleep well.


End file.
